Shades of Gold
by ForeverMATT
Summary: "Mail is a forbidden subject, but allow me to tell you all about my goldfish; his name was Matt."
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Shades of Gold

**Summary: **"Mail is a forbidden subject, but allow me to tell you all about my goldfish; his name was Matt."

**Disclaimer: **DN is not mine, nor is anything referenced.

**Author's** **Note**: I need to be working on other things, I know, but I've had a lot going on, and then I got back into my 'artist's groove', so I've been busy. -For now, enjoy what I have to offer.

...

* * *

I had a goldfish once, I think. His name was Matt. He was a scrawny little thing with big, buggy eyes and... nothing else that was memorable.

If someone asked, I couldn't say what color he was, or when I got him. (Why is my fish a 'HE'? Because I named it Matt, and Matt is a boy's name, and I didn't know how to tell boy fish from girl fish. Do you?)

Point is, I don't have Matt anymore.

I remember getting him, watching an adult set up the fish tank and filter, and then I remember being told to feed the fish once a day. I remember loving the little guy for two or three days, and then... it became a chore.

Then I forgot to feed it once or twice.

Then, one day, it just wasn't there anymore, and I didn't care. But, in retrospect, I feel bad for the neglect... because I can relate to my absent little goldfish that is likely decayed in a sewage drain somewhere.

I can relate... because I'm like such a menial pet; easily forgotten. My parents stopped loving me long ago, and I wonder if they think of me as a decayed carcass somewhere. Do they even know I'm still alive? Do they care?

Was my face ever one of those to be inked on a milk carton?

Doubtful.

-Let me start over. It's best to begin with a simple introduction.

Hello. My name is Mail, and I am not a goldfish.

...

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**/Not entirely sure what provoked this, nor am I sure where I'm going with it, but here it is: an introduction of sorts. Questions? Comments? Suggestions? Eh, REVIEW./**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Shades of Gold

**Summary: **"Mail is a forbidden subject, but allow me to tell you all about my goldfish; his name was Matt."

**Disclaimer: **DN is not mine, nor is anything referenced.

**Author's Note: **I've decided this will be a 3-Shot, meaning it will have a total of three chappies. As for this chapter, personally, I like the elements in it; I like the wording and the way it pans out; I just don't like it as a whole. I think it's haphazard and hard to follow, and for that I'm sorry.

...

* * *

Ask me my mother or father's name, and I can tell you neither. Ask if I'm an only child. Ask my last name. Ask my nationality. Ask any factual thing about me, and I will choke on oxygen in the absence of words. Because, for as long as I can remember, I've been passed around like a warped frisbee.

And it was my fault.

Fueled by the desire to be understood rather than overlooked, I ran away from my biological parents and left my memories behind. The moment this was discovered, I found myself in the state's custody.

After that, things became more mundane than Saturday Night Live.

From one home to another, I can envision it like an old '80's montage.

-The cliche yuppies just starting a life together, newly married and wanting to share a child; the outlook doesn't look good in terms of conception, and so adoption seems feasible. A redheaded child -_me_- is chosen, and for a whole week, things go well and everyone is sharing love like Ecstacy and STD's. Then the excitement dwindles and everything becomes a chore. The cooking, cleaning, and child-rearing becomes too much, and the man and woman begin to bicker. The man starts going out more, staying out longer. The woman cries until she can't cry anymore. And what did I do? I just sat there and waited for things to get better... though they never did. Instead, I was sent away.

-Another family. This one granted me a father who played the saxophone and a mother who worked in Real Estate or something; it also presented me with an older sister who wore dark makeup and skirts that barely covered her panties. Once again, things were perfect for about a week, and then the trouble started. And, in the end, I was sent away again.

-Another family. Single father who worked as an amateur film artist. He claimed that his ultimate goal was to produce something trivial for the Sundance festival, but after only a few days, it became clear that the only thing he liked to film was little boys: particularly me. Then, by the end of the week, he got busted for child pornography, and again I was shuffled around.

-Then another family.

-And another.

And, after having and losing dozens of families, I began to understand that I just wasn't wanted. I was too much trouble.

I was their own personal goldfish, dropped in a tank, admired for a day, loved for a week, and then abandoned.

...

I'm fifteen now. Currently a resident of Wammy's House Orphanage for Gifted Boys. -It sounds nice, but in reality, this is where orphans go when they're decidedly unacceptable; when nobody wants them and they're unlovable.

This is where we are put out to pasture until we reach adulthood.

I've been here for about a week, and I'm waiting with disinterest... because I'm so sure another home will await me after this... And if not, I'll probably run away again.

It's not that I take pride in being homeless, but it's better than the emptiness here, in this giant fish bowl of sorts. A school of the unwanted and unashamed inside a shell meant to protect and then expel like toxic waste.

-I had my heart set on running away at day 7 of living there. I had my bags packed and everything in order. I had memorized my escape route and everything. But... that evening, when I returned to my assigned room for what should have been the final time, something caught my eye. A small box and a piece of paper resting on top.

Approaching with curiosity outweighing my need to leave, I gingerly picked up the paper and read the neatly scripted words.

_Before you leave, remember that you're not just a Goldfish: a wholesome snack that smiles back until you bite their heads off. You're also my roommate, and if you leave, they'll replace you with Near, and I don't want that. So stop being so damn selfish, open the little box, and reconsider leaving._

The note was blunt and unsigned, but I knew my chocolate-loving roommate must have written it, and it is with a conflicted smile that I cast the note aside and purposefully ignore the box. Instead, I grab my bag, hoist it over my shoulder, and head for the window. I didn't want to open that box and risk finding something to hold me back, as I'm sure it contained some form of bribery.

However, the moment my hands unlatch and slide the window open, a voice reaches my ears.

"You're not a goldfish, and fuck you for that."

I flinch at the words, as well as their harsh tone. "Mello... My name is Mail, and I am not a goldfish," I said for the umpteenth time, having revealed tales of my fish named Matt so many times already.

Mello, my roommate, simply growled and took angry steps until he reached the box. He grabbed it up and opened it with a ferocity I'd yet to see. "You're right. You're _not_ a goldfish. Goldfish don't leave until you _want_ them to. Goldfish just sit in their little fish tanks and are loved by those who want them. Goldfish need to be cared for and are happy with whatever _home_ they are given... -And you're a selfish little bastard who thinks he deserves more."

"I _do_ deserve more," I said plainly, and though I sounded confident, I felt my chest constrict the slightest bit, warning me to keep calm, lest I expel more emotion than I'm willing to let out.

But Mello was persistent, removing the contents from the box and throwing it at me; I caught it blindly, dropping my own heavy bag in the process. Then Mello spoke in a bitter tone, saying: "You had a goldfish. You admired it for a day, and loved it for a week. You had a home, and a mom and dad. And you left it all."

"Yeah, but-" I began, but he cut me off.

"But nothing! I never had a real home, or a mom or dad! I never had a goldfish! And you know what?! Until you showed up a week ago, I didn't _care_."

I couldn't help cringing at how distraught he sounded. "Mello, I want-"

"Why am I supposed to care what _you_ want?" Mello challenged, teeth gritting and fists clenching. "What about what _I_ want?"

Taking a deep breath, I sighed and cautiously made eye contact with Mello; his eyes were the most piercing blue I'd ever seen. And with another breath, I asked: "Okay, what do _you _want, Mello?"

And he answered. "I want a goldfish named Matt. And I want to have it longer than a week. And for that to happen, you can't leave."

"Mello, you're not making any sense." And no, by my intellectual standards, he didn't make sense.

But he elaborated, and I wish he hadn't. "When you first introduced yourself to me, you said that your name wasn't important, but you used to have a goldfish named Matt. I thought you were downright retarded at first, but then you went on and on, talking about how you could't quite remember it, but you knew you had it; you knew how long you had it; and you wished to have paid more attention to it."

"Mello, please..."

"And it made sense to me. Anyone I've ever had in my life was the same way. And I couldn't bring myself to care... until now. And..." his words trailed of; and in the absence of sound, he approached me. He took the object from my hand and slipped it around my head. My world was instantly bathed in orange and the sudden change took my breath away.

"Mello, what's this?"

"Goggles."

"But why?"

"Because you needed to see things differently. You talk about a fish named Matt like he was your best friend, and then you crush the incentive by saying he's long gone: abandoned but not forgotten. But I want a chance to change that."

Though my IQ was high, I couldn't quite grasp what he was saying. It confused me. Until...

"Mail, my fucked up little roommate, whom I cherish... I want you... to be my goldfish. Be _MY Matt_, and I'll love and admire you for longer than a week... I promise not to abandon you, but I need you to promise the same thing."

...

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**/There it is. I'm not fond of it, but this chapter's done. There will be one more chapter. So, REVIEW./**


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Shades of Gold

**Summary: **"Mail is a forbidden subject, but allow me to tell you all about my goldfish; his name was Matt."

**Disclaimer: **DN is not mine, nor is anything referenced.

**Author's Note: **Last chapter. Badly written, but read one, and feel free to review!

...

* * *

Because of Mello, I didn't leave. I kicked my shoes off and flung myself onto the bed, beckoning him to follow my example; and he did. We stayed perfectly parallel in my bed for an immeasurable amount of time before I murmured a soft: "thanks".

"For what?" he asked, situating the blanket so that it covered us both.

"For the goggles... and for... encouraging me to stay."

"I didn't do it for you; I did it for me."

"Oh, okay, Mello."

"...Mail, tell me another story... about your fish, and when you were little."

And just like that, laying there with my blonde roommate, my vision still bathed in orange, I smiled. I'm not sure why; there shouldn't have been anything significant about such a simple request, yet I felt a warmth in me that hadn't been there in quite some time. And I obliged his request.

_Matt was an ugly little guy. Big eyes. Little fins. Lopsided body. He swam in circles and blew bubbles. I don't know what color he was, but I can imagine that he was orange or yellow or brown or grey. Or any other color goldfish come in. He was plain and ordinary. Nothing special. But he was mine. And one day, he was gone. And though it never mattered much before, I wish it had... because I think it matters now._

When I next looked at my blonde roommate, he was asleep. And he was smiling. And I was almost happy. And I closed my eyes and let the night slip away.

...

Then came the eighth day; it was a record for me.

It was morning, and I woke up alone, but the bed held his imprint and the goggles that were askew across my face were more than enough evidence of the night before.

-Getting up and ready, I fixed the goggles over my eyes and left my room, deciding to face the world of Wammy's once more -only, this time, I planned on looking at things a little differently.

In the halls, people pointed and whispered, sometimes laughing. But that was alright. That kind of thing happens to fish all the time.

And I was Mello's fish. He wanted me. And that meant something.

...

Later, in Creative Writing, we had to write an essay or something, and then read it to the class. Not sure why, but teachers got their rocks off over things like that.

We went in rank order.

Near was first. Mello hated Near. His essay was a mechanical rant on politics.

Mello was second. Mello was either admired or hated; never anything more or less. No love above admiration, and no indifferential means less than hate. His essay was something that coincided with what I'd written for every assignment thus far.

_"Mail is a forbidden subject, but allow me to tell you all about my goldfish; his name is Matt."_

In that moment, he and I shared a brief moment of electrical eye contact, and I smiled. I wondered if this was what my own fish felt like when I looked at him. Granted, it probably wasn't, but if it was... then for a week, he must've been really happy.

Because I was happy. Sitting there, surrounded by people I hated, I listened to familiar words from someone who cared.

My words. Mello's mouth.

It was a poetic justice all on its own.

And he concluded with: _"And maybe he could be considered more than just a possession. Perhaps a friend? Maybe. But for now, I'll watch him. I'll admire him. I'll love him. For a week... and longer."_

And I fought the urge to grin like an idiot and applaud like a madman.

Then came my turn.

I stood up at the podium, awkard posture and shuffling feet -so unlike Mello's perfessional delivery -and I slouched a little more before drawing my eyes to my paper and reading with little to no rhythm, pausing in all the wrong places and appearing downright disoriented. My anxiety was all too evident even if my words were few.

_Of all the colors I've seen, from the darkest depths of the ocean to the most faint or unique hues of the horizon, I like gold the best. Bright and unpredictable. Expressed with yellows, oranges, and browns, or even bronze. It is unique and under appreciated. Loved as a precious metal, but overlooked as a color. It holds pride without the arrogance, boasting a beauty that is easily masked but acknowledged all the same. Out of all the colors, it holds the most humanity. _

And that was it. I didn't write any more, even though we were assigned a five paged essay. I didn't go in depth with how I thought or felt. I simply wrote what I wanted and stopped. To me, I expressed what I'd wanted. And, taking my paper and stepping away from the podium, I headed back to my seat and put my head down.

My face was heated and my veins were flooded with ice.

I wasn't much for doing anything in front of an audience, and I was more than ready to go back to my room to contemplate anything and everything.

I reached up and adjusted my goggles periodically while subconsciously listening to the other students read their essays.

After a few essays were read, I felt a hand tap my shoulder. I looked up to see Near, pale as ever, trying to hand me a note someone had passed to him. With my brows furrowing in confusion, I took the paper and opened it up, only for everything to make sense again as I read:

_Good job, fish. I look forward to seeing more from you. Next time, keep your chin up and hold eye contact. Speak more concisely. Get an A, and I'll give you another reason to call this place 'home.'_

To anyone else, it might not seem like a big deal, but the next class we had together was Geometry. And, in Geometry, for the first time, I participated. I raised my hand and spoke articulately, and the teacher gave me an approving smile when I announced the correct answer.

Shortly after, I received another tap on the shoulder, followed by another letter.

...

-By the end of the week, I got my first A, and Mello discreetly rewarded me with a kiss and another letter... only this time, the letter didn't consist of a vague promise or hints on how to improve. Instead, letter simply said: _Two weeks. Good job._

I was going to ask him what that meant, but before I could, he led me to our shared room and gestured for me to look around.

Wordlessly, I complied, easily spotting a small glass fish bowl resting on an aquarium stand. And in that bowl swam two little fish.

Again, I planned to inquire the meaning of the strange gift, but Mello cut me off with his own words.

"The orange one is Matt. And no matter what happens, he doesn't ever have to be alone."

And I smiled, looking at the ugly two fish as they swam around in their little glass prison.

But Mello's voice met my ears again, asking: "So, you're staying, right? You're not gonna leave?"

I took a moment to think it over, considering the way my feelings had altered in the past week, and... then I gave an honest answer. "If these two fish can call this bowl their home, I think I can call Wammy's _my _home too."

...

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**/...wanna know something sad? I thought I had this chapter up already; it's been done for a while. -Review./**


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